I adore my Rosie who rails the rivets of ruin. Her handkerchief of blood and tears keeps the sweat from her face. She labors with arms of iron against her own fragility. Sleeves of discipline rolled up against the crush of hard work.
Constructing a perpetual machine of comfort rather than disassembling untruths.
I would cherish her until the rebooting of forever, if she were unsurreal. If she were self-aware in her dichotomy.
Instead she is just a paper-mache persona stuffed into the gaps of bird-heart ribcages.
1:14 a.m. - 2015-02-19
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
Heartdesert - 2018-06-25
Elliptical - 2018-06-25
Back and Callback - 2018-06-18
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